


Kyou kara dou, ikite yuku? (How will I live from now on?)

by vogue91



Category: Japanese Actor RPF, Johnny's Entertainment, NewS (Band)
Genre: Affairs, Betrayal, Blood, Dark, Drunkenness, M/M, Rape, Razors, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: “Did you wash yourself up good?” he asked, clenching his teeth, getting close to the bed and taking his chin in his hand, forcing him to look toward him. “Or did you leave other of Matsumoto’s traces on you?” he added, touching hard on the bite mark the elder had on his neck.





	Kyou kara dou, ikite yuku? (How will I live from now on?)

Yamashita put the glass down on the table, harsh.

What was left of the vodka spilled on the surface, but he didn’t bother drying it up. He took the bottle, filling it once again and drinking it all down.

He was starting to feel the effect of the alcohol. He closed his eyes, feeling his head spinning.

When he opened them back, he focused on the reason why he had taken out the vodka.

Ikuta had come home less than half an hour before.

It was two in the morning. Yamapi laid on the couch, dozing off.

He wasn’t really waiting for him. He had sat in the living room lazily watching the TV, aware that the other wasn’t going to come home any time soon.

He had gone to dinner with Matsumoto and Oguri Shun, and it often happened that they were out late.

He had been on the verge of falling asleep when he had heard the door opening; he didn’t feel like getting up, so had kept down, waving at Toma.

“Okaeri. Did you have fun?” he had asked, mumbling a little.

“Mh. Yes, I did.” the elder had said, and had gone his way without adding anything else.

And it had been then that Yamashita had realized there was something wrong.

He had slowly gotten up from the couch, reaching him and grabbing his wrist.

“Toma... did something happen?” he had asked, confused.

The other man had bit down on his lip, which Pi had interpreted as discomfort or guilt.

Then he had seen it. The slightly unbuttoned shirt showed a red mark at the base of his neck, and Yamashita had had no doubts anymore that what Toma was showing was guilt.

“I... I’m going to take a shower, ok?” he elder had told him, without answering the question.

Yamapi had tightened the hold on his wrist.

“Tomohisa let me go, you’re hurting me.” he had whispered, with little conviction; the other, then, had brought his free hand to his throat, removing the collar to show what was the clear mark of a bite.

“Toma... what happened?” he had asked again, an unsteady voice that didn’t mask the anger. “Who was it?” he had added, not sure if he truly wanted to know the answer.

Toma had lowered his eyes, staring intently at the floor, and didn’t seem like he wanted to say anything at all.

The younger then had let go of his wrist, to get a strong hold of his jaw instead. He had gotten closer, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Toma...” he had hissed, and so the other had given in.

“MatsuJun.” he had said, harsh, wiggling out of his hold.

They had kept still for a few seconds, in an unreal silence, both staring at the floor now.

Then Yamashita had turned his back on him, going toward the kitchen island and punching the marble, hurting himself but not really realizing the pain.

“You can go shower if you want.” he said, calmer than he had expected.

He felt Toma’s stare on him for a few more seconds, before he quickly got out of the room.

When he had finally heard the bathroom’s door closing, he had gone toward the fridge and had taken the vodka out.

He had poured down his throat a shot, then another one, then another one.

_MatsuJun._

Toma wasn’t that kind of guy.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to so lightly sleep with someone else.

He wasn’t the kind of guy who would’ve betrayed him, because he loved him, he was sure of it.

And it was because of this certainty that he couldn’t control his anger.

His minds kept showing him images of Toma who let himself be touched, kissed, fucked by someone that wasn’t him.

He filled the glass one last time, when he heard the bathroom door open again.

He heard Ikuta go back to the bedroom, which ticked him off even more.

He abandoned the glass on the table and quickly went to the other room.

Toma was sitting on the bed, only his pj’s pants on and a towel around his shoulders.

He looked tormented, but Yamapi didn’t care at all how guilty he felt.

He didn’t have that right.

“Did you wash yourself up good?” he asked, clenching his teeth, getting close to the bed and taking his chin in his hand, forcing him to look toward him. “Or did you leave other of Matsumoto’s traces on you?” he added, touching hard on the bite mark the elder had on his neck.

“Tomohisa... I’m sorry, I don’t...” he tried to justify himself, but the other man didn’t let him.

“Shut up!” he yelled. “Just answer one question: did the two of you had sex or no?” he hissed. Ikuta lowered his gaze, and after a while he nodded. Yamashita felt the anger invading him, almost scaring him for its intensity. “Then I don’t want to hear your apologies, I don’t want to hear excuses. I don’t want to listen to you.” he said, taking his face in his hand and tightening it, sure that he was hurting him.

Because it was the only thing he wanted right now.

He didn’t want to know why. He didn’t want excuses. He didn’t want to be begged for forgiveness.

He wanted to make him feel pain. He wanted to make him suffer, hurt him like he felt hurt.

As if he couldn’t control his own actions, he went to the closet. He took a belt out of it and turned toward Toma again.

The latter realized his intentions too late; Yamashita pushed on his sternum, making him end up on the mattress and straddling him, pulling on his arms until they were on the headrest.

He crossed his wrists, forcing them when he met resistance from him, and tied them up, tight, so that it would leave a mark, so that it would excoriate him.

“Yamapi... Tomo, please, stop. Let me go, you’re not funny.” he said, his breath made heavy by the fear that showed itself clear from his voice and his eyes, wide open, that stared at him as if he was seeing him for the first time.

“I’ve said I don’t want to hear you, Toma.” he replied, still with that ease in his voice, that clashed with the look in his eyes, veiled by cruelty. “Do you want to be fucked so bad? Do you want marks on you?” he said, brushing his chest, digging his nails in his flesh. “Then you will. You’ll see that when I’m going to be done with you, you’re going to have so many marks on you that you won’t need anyone else to bite you or fuck you.” he finished.

He stared at the clawing marks on him, frustrated. Feeling the flesh being scratched under his hands was satisfying, somehow, but not at all close to the pain he wanted to inflict him.

He got up of the bed abruptly, managing to catch a flash of relief in Toma’s eyes, who was likely thinking he had had a change of mind.

 _Kami, how wrong you are_ Yamashita thought, going quickly to the bathroom.

He lingered in front of the shelf.

He took a deep breath before looking at himself in the mirror.

For the second time that night, he got scared of himself.

Those weren’t his eyes, that was not his look.

But he wasn’t going to give up.

Until he was conscious, he could do whatever he wanted.

He took a razor, forcing it the right amount to break it and taking one of the blades.

He hurt himself a little in the attempt, and as if he had been an animal this made him feel even more angry.

He went back to the other room, this time slowly.

He relished every moment of horror on Toma’s face when he saw the blade in his hands.

“Yamashita... what do you want to do?” he asked, with that almost suave tone that Pi associated with talking to mad men.

He didn’t care. Ikuta could think whatever he wanted of him. At this point, nothing could hurt him more.

He didn’t answer, he didn’t deem it necessary.

He straddled him again, caressing his throat with a fingertip. Then, slowly, he brought the blade closer to the same spot.

He didn’t apply too much pressure. Just as much as it took to see the cut staining slowly with the red of his blood.

He felt more free, somehow, to the sight of that blood.

Toma bit his lip, moaning for the pain.

“Tomohisa, stop. You’re blinded by rage and I get that, but this won’t make it any better...” he started saying, quick, but he was interrupted once again.

“You’re wrong. It will make it _definitely_ better.” was his answer, while the blade now moved on the lower part of his rib cage.

This time the pressure was harder, and the blood was faster to come out, forming small droplets at the end of the cut.

One close to his navel. One in the middle of his chest. One on his hip. Another on his neck. One on his collarbone.

Yamashita couldn’t stop.

The sight of that blood, Toma’s muffled cries in the background, feeling the flesh breaking under the pressure of the blade... it was addictive.

The more he hurt him, the more he wanted to hurt him.

The more he wanted to hurt him, the more he wanted to humiliate him.

He got up, never taking his eyes off of him.

Toma writhed, lamenting. It got inside Yamashita’s ears like a melody, the only one he wanted to hear right now.

On his body there was a pattern of blood staining a good portion of his upper body, still unable to mark the outlines of every single cut.

Yamapi was almost _fascinated_ by that show. He had gone deep enough to know that most of those wounds were going to become scars, which would’ve forbidden Toma to forget about this night.

As if he could, anyway.

While he stared at him, he felt something in him waking up.

He was beautiful, Toma.

He was beautiful covered with those wounds. He was beautiful, laying on the bed, squirming, whilst he stretched his arms trying to free himself.

He was beautiful, and Tomo couldn’t live with the thought that he hadn’t been the last one to own that beauty.

He leant over his face caressing his face with a tenderness that seemed absurd in that context.

He got his mouth closer to a cut right under his ear, sticking out his tongue and licking the blood away.

That something inside of him became more definite, while he felt his own cock starting get hard.

“Your body wounded like this is terribly arousing.” he murmured in his ear, and Toma closed his eyes, exhausted.

“Yamapi... enough. I’ve paid. Let me go.” a tear ran down his face, stopped by Yamashita’s finger.

“I can’t, Toma. I can’t.” he brought his hand on the mark of Matsumoto’s teeth, now barely visible. “I still haven’t erased all of _his_ marks on you.” he murmured. Then, he got quickly rid of his trousers and boxers, straddling his shoulders so that his cock was inches from his face.

“You took him in your mouth, right?” he asked, calm. Toma didn’t answer, but averted his eyes, and it was enough.

He brought a hand behind his neck, making him lift his head.

“Open.” he order, pushing his cock on his lips until he obeyed. He thrust deep in his mouth and to his throat, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, ecstatic for the sudden feeling of warmth.

Ikuta, beneath him, was crying. He tried not to gag, to breathe without chocking. To survive.

Yamashita kept still for a few moments, before grabbing him by his hair, pulling on them and forcing him to move his mouth on him.

Every thrust ended when he felt Toma’s throat closing around his cock, and then he lingered before pulling out and starting again, until the rhythm became erratic, less precise. The involuntary movements of Toma’s tongue did nothing but get him close to the edge, and it was just a matter of minutes before he pulled out of him mouth, moaning deeply and coming on his face.

After having recovered from the orgasm, Yamashita lowered his eyes on him; Toma’s eyes were closed, clenched, while his cum run down his forehead and his cheekbone.

Yamapi knelt on the floor on the side of the bad, folding his arms under his chin on the mattress, there where he could have a global vision of him.

He saw him opening his eyes again and turning to look at him. He could read the suffering, the pain and the humiliation in those eyes. The silent pleas that he was sure he was addressing to him, that he knew weren’t going to be heard.

He was _filthy._ But he was okay with that, when he was the one tarnishing him.

He had never felt him so much _his._

He was almost done with his work. Another step and it was going to be perfect; he was going to erase every sign of the passage of another man on him, he would’ve finally gotten rid of that oppressing thought, he would’ve had his revenge in the final act of the pain of Ikuta Toma.

Slowly, he brought his hand to his cock, still spent from the previous orgasm. He started touching himself almost lazily, never tearing his eyes off of Toma.

Looking at him turned him on, and as much as he knew, somewhere in his mind, how wrong of a reaction it was, he had by now convinced himself that the barrier between right and wrong didn’t make sense anymore, not that night, not on that bed.

When he felt himself getting hard once again he got back on the mattress, next to Toma, and ungracefully tore his slacks and boxers off of him, until he was completely naked. He opened his legs, settling between them and looking him straight in the eyes.

There was nothing anymore. No hope, no prayer.

Just surrender.

Yamashita bit down on his lip, feeling that the lack of reaction from him fed the rage in his body.

He brought a hand between his leg and pushed two fingers inside, not caring about his moan of pain.

He didn’t put much effort in it; he pushed another finger almost out of habit than for a real will to make it more comfortable for him. It would’ve made no sense and it wasn’t what he wanted.

He pulled his fingers out, still looking at him; he took his leg, bringing it around his hips and thrust inside, hard, painfully.

Then he kept still, not for him to get used to it, but for him to feel it.

He wanted him to feel it, every inch inside of him, he wanted to keep watching those spasms of pain going through his face, while his body involuntarily twitched around Yamashita.

When he was satisfied with it, he started thrusting.

With his mind he went back to all the times they had had sex, and it seemed like two different people now.

There was no tenderness, there was no desire to feel the other closer, there was no will to become one part of the other.

Now he was fucking him, because now he was his and he could do as he pleased with him.

The thrusts continued, quick and deep, while Toma went on with his litany of laments and screams, rambling and weak. As if he had taken the strength to rebel out of him.

Yamashita tried to last as much as he could to prolong that feeling, but in the end he couldn’t hold back.

He hovered over the elder’s body, resting his forehead on his and taking his face in his hand while he came inside of him.

He collapsed against him, panting heavily.

He stayed inside of him for a few minutes, like he didn’t want to move.

When he was going to do so, when they weren’t going to be this close anymore, everything was going to be over.

He was going to lose Toma forever.

His work was done, and now that he looked at it he pitied himself.

In the end he pulled out, rolling on his hip and loosening the belt that kept him tied to the bed.

The wrists were deeply wounded, but Yamashita knew it was the lesser evil.

The true wounds were all over Toma’s body. They were inside him. They were in his mind, in the memories he would’ve kept of that infernal night.

He saw him slowly get off the bed, his movements hindered by the pain, and look at him, as if he was afraid he could change his mind about letting him go.

But Yamapi didn’t make a move.

He watched him take some clothes, putting it on quickly and getting out of the room.

When he heard the main door closing he clenched his eyes, as if he had just been stabbed.

He had left. And it was more than fair.

Yamashita moved on the side of the bed previously occupied by Toma; he traced the outline of the reddish stains, holding the sheets tight while his tears blended with the blood on them.

He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen the next day.

That was his final act.

He had played his part, he had gotten what he wanted, he had irreparably hurt Toma. And he had consciously done that.

Now, nothing mattered anymore.

He fell asleep, his mind drenched in the smell of the blood of the man he loved.

 


End file.
